


There is Something Clearly Wrong with This

by lmirandas



Series: Inconvenient [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Greg is the Quidditch Captain, Gryffindor!John, Hufflepuff!Greg, M/M, Mycroft is the Head Boy, Potterlock, Potterstrade, Ravenclaw!Sherlock, Sherlock Challenge November, Slytherin!Mycroft, The prompt was smell, Trying to be friends, love potions, mystrade, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas
Summary: Mycroft Holmes was looking for his troublemaker brother when he found Greg Lestrade working on an assignment for potions class. No matter how hard they both try, together, they can't seem to find out what is wrong the potion in question, something that is clearly frustrating for our local residing genius. What he didn't know is that there was nothing wrong with the potion, nothing wrong with the potion at all.
Continuation of Expedite the Request, part of the Incovenient Series, my own little Potterlock!Mystrade verse, but it can be read as a stand alone fic. Written for the Sherlock Challenge November, with the prompt smell, and I decided to continue in this verse thanks to the warm reception Expedite the Request had. Also, before anyone asks, my dear friend Gio alifetimeaheadtoprovethat did a work for the same prompt with the same idea for Johnlock and hers is so much better than this one so check it out here





	

**Author's Note:**

> Update: Art by the amazing [johix](http://johix.tumblr.com) right [here](http://lmirandas.tumblr.com/post/153727944555/the-amazing-and-talented-johix-made-this-amazing)

Mycroft was looking at the notebook again, Anthea’s handwriting clear as usual.

 

**_I’m sure your brother and his band of misfits are planning to make polyjuice potion somewhere. Boomslang skin went missing from Professor Gregson’s private storage, he has not noticed by the way, and your brother and John Watson were placed in detention for melting a cauldron in his class. I assume one of his other friends stole the ingredient while they caused a distraction. I plan on start searching every empty classroom. Want me to involve the other prefects or you want to keep it to ourselves?_ **

His friend was the only one he could trust with Sherlock and his shenanigans, she didn’t judge his protective instinct and she didn’t insist on telling on him to the teachers when it was something they could solve themselves. After all, that’s why prefects and Head Boys and Girls existed, to manage little miscreants and solve small problems throughout the school, right? Surely, him taking matters into his own hands was merely doing his job. And he needed to get used to doing this kind of operation unnoticed, with the new job he had just accepted at the Ministry of Magic.

 

He had done his NEWTs one year earlier than the rest of his classmates and had basically just stayed at Hogwarts to expand his already vast network of acquaintances and connections. Also, he had always wanted to become Head Boy, since the moment he saw the badge pinned on the seventh year prefect that had guided him to the dungeon dorm room on his very first day at Hogwarts. It was worth a year, and he had managed to gain a lot more knowledge now that he had more free time without worrying about exams. It had taken a while to prove to Headmaster Stamford that he was ready to take his NEWTs, but all his effort doing the actual convincing had proved harder than the actual tests. The Ministry examiners were impressed with him, and soon a summer internship was offered for him. He was quick to accept.

 

Now his brother was threatening the careful equilibrium he had managed to achieve here, in _his_ school. He held the notebook so tight the page crumpled a little.

 

_We will keep it to ourselves. For now, he is threading into more dangerous ground each time. If he crosses one more line, feel free to involve the others or even the teachers._

****

**Don’t be so harsh. This one is serious, I admit, but mostly they do non-dangerous non sense. I thought you would be happy that his social situation is not a dire as you had expected when he came to Hogwarts.**

_I do not know if I'm meant to thank the Hogwarts express and my stars for that or to curse them repeatedly._

****

**_Let’s find them first. I’ll help you curse them if you like._ **

The last “e” jumped from the page and turned itself into a mouth that blew a silent kiss to Mycroft. Anthea was an impressive witch. Maybe he could convince her to take her NEWTs early too, he could tutor her and then she would have her last year to master other things. He needed to start looking for his wayward brother. He hoped one day Sherlock would appreciate the amount of legwork he had to put to keep him in this school. He went through all the empty classrooms on the ground floor before taking the staircase to the first floor. The staircases changed for every student, every student except Mycroft Holmes, that is. Even the old stairway respected him somehow. He pulled his notebook out again.

 

_Found them?_

****

**_No, I’m checking the towers and the owlery too, just in case_.**

 

_I’m on my way to the first floor as we speak._

****

He arrived at an empty corridor and tried the door of one of the empty classrooms. Locked. Interesting, these doors were never closed, no matter how many times he encouraged Professor Stamford to lock all unused classrooms, he received the same mischievous smile and silly answer.

 

“Now, now Mycroft, we don’t want to ruin the fun for everyone.”

 

He pulled his wand out. _Altus auditis_ , he thought, his non-verbal spell enhancing his hearing enough to listen through the door. Muttered curses and the tattletale hum of a cauldron boiling. Mycroft smiled to himself, very much like a cat who has caught his prey. He unlocked the door with his wand and was about to start yelling at his little brother… only to find himself facing a very flustered and frustrated Greg Lestrade. _Damnation and curses all around_. That was his luck, all right. Ever since that day at the Quidditch pitch he had been avoiding the Hufflepuff like the plague, intrigued by the unease that the other boy caused in him. It was not a _bad_ unease per se, but nothing that he really wanted to explore further. He blamed his veela heritage, honestly the chaser (he had researched Quidditch positions, _what was wrong with him_?) was too charming for his own good.

 

“You are aware that brewing potions outside of the potions classroom is strictly forbidden Lestrade.”

* * *

 

Shit. That was the only thing on Greg’s mind the moment that Mycroft Holmes opened the door. The man had been avoiding like he was carrying a bad case of Dragon Pox, even changing seats if Greg by chance happened to sit near him in class. True, usually Mycroft was the last to arrive and first to leave, which left Greg clueless on how to approach him. He wanted to get to know Mycroft better, he was quite desperate in fact, but he seemed to elude any attempt at friendly talk that Greg sent his way. He had even tried talking to his friend Sally about him. Sally was the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and also a prefect, so he braced himself for the mockery that would soon follow and asked her, approaching the Gryffindor table one day during a study session for NEWTs.

 

“So, Sally. Hi.”

“Lestrade. Come here to concede the game already? Lost your spine while you slept last night?”

“You are a hoot Sally, hope you keep the smile after we pummel your team this Saturday. Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Let’s hear it then. I don’t have all day. Oh, no…. You don’t want me to tutor _you_ in something? Because with Quidditch practice and the NEWTs each day closer I…”

“Shut it Sally, no. You know I’m no slack, I have to keep my grades up so my Dad doesn’t pull me out of the team. No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“Are you friends with the Head Boy?”

“With Holmes? The only friend Holmes has in Anthea Nott. He is not even friends with his own Head Girl. He is extremely polite; he treats everyone with the same detached pleasantness but I always get the feeling he looks down on the rest of us. One time I overheard him telling Anthea that he was surrounded by goldfish. He doesn’t own a fishbowl, so you can see where I’m going with this. Why the sudden curiosity?”

“I kind of crashed on him on the Quidditch pitch and couldn’t really get a read on him. He seems, I don’t know, interesting.”

“Watch it Lestrade, you seem like a love sick schoolgirl.”

“Piss off, Sal. Anyway, thanks.”

 

He had seen Sally soon after, walking with Mycroft, Anthea and the rest of the prefects through the grounds and when he raised his hand to wave at her and she waved back, Mycroft turned to look his way and scowled. And now Mycroft Holmes was standing in front of him, a frown in his face and a look Greg had not seen on him before.

 

“I’m so sorry, don’t duck points of my house for this please! I’m not doing anything dangerous, I’m just trying to brew this damned potion correctly for Professor Gregson’s class. It was a potion I used to be able to brew perfectly, but last time he asked in class I noticed something was wrong with mine. He gave me full marks on the vial I left on his desk, but when I retrieved it after he graded before discarding it still seemed wrong to me. So I’m just trying to brew it again correctly.”

 

He felt his face as it reddened each time a little more which every word he told the Head Boy. God, the man was a genius, everybody knew that, and he was going to think Greg was deranged. But why did he care so much? Mycroft Holmes was not his friend; he was not his anything. But he felt sick to his stomach revealing his failures to him, felt that somehow he was been judged and found wanting. And Professor Gregson had given him full marks! But that was not how _Amortentia_ smelled for him, he knew how that potion smelled for him and that was not it!!! He had brewed the potion three more times now, each time a total failure. But which each word he could see Mycroft’s face changing from the unknown face to a curious one, following each of Greg’s words and nodding.

 

“And you say Professor Gregson gave you full marks? Clearly it’s a matter of perception. I’m sure your previous attempt was technically correct, if not, he wouldn’t have awarded you full marks. He is grading you on NEWTs standards at the moment. He gave you an O?”

“Yes, yes, he gave me an O, but there is something wrong with the potion, trust me, I’m not hallucinating, I’ve done this potion before, and trust me, _this is not how it is_ , at least for me.”

“Is it a potion that depends on perception, or that alters perception in some way?”

“Yes, it’s _Amortentia_ , if you must know.”

“Clearly you know that _Amortentia_ is a restricted substance.”

“I’ve never tried it myself, ta very much, I don’t need a love potion to get a date.”

 

Of course you don’t you veela-descended buffoon. Your charm, heritage and good looks would do that for you.

 

“I don’t get your meaning, if you are not planning on using the potion why would you care if it’s not perfectly brewed? Especially if you got full marks for it. In fact, why do you think it’s not perfectly brewed?” He peered at the cauldron, trying to keep his distance from Greg. “It looks the right color to me.”

“Smell it, maybe you can detect it, Mr. Genius. I’m not crazy, this potion is wrong!!”

 

Mycroft circled the cauldron, careful to stand as far away from Greg as possible, in fact choosing the complete opposite side of the cauldron. He leaned back and smelled the potion. Yes, the familiar smells, old books and parchment, ink, the smell of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room and…. what was that smell? He inhaled again. Yes, books, parchment, ink, ash, logs…there, what is that? He kept inhaling until he was a little dizzy, with Greg giving him a satisfied smirk.

 

“See?? I knew I wasn’t barmy. You can smell something off too right?”

“I have to admit I fail to understand how did Professor Gregson missed this, there is something clearly wrong with this potion.”

“I knew it! I just knew it! Thanks Mycroft for proving my point. It was driving me crazy. But the thing is I don’t know what I did wrong. I used to be able to brew this one without any problem at all, and now all I get is this mess.”

 

He glared at the potion like it was responsible of all his troubles and Mycroft found that a frustrated and angry Gregory Lestrade was… endearing, to him, at least. _Damn his thoughts_. Focus, Holmes, back on track.

 

“If you want, I can brew a batch myself. You seem to have all the ingredients, pearl dust, rose thorns, powdered moonstone, peppermint, even the ashwinder eggs. They don’t have those on the student cupboards, care to explain that?”

 

His reddish brown eyebrow when up and Greg found that it was… sexy, to him, at least. He didn’t seem to mind Mycroft scolding him and found the auburn headed teenager was quite attractive when he was being all superior with rightfulness. Time to put him in his place, though.

 

“Yes, it is not on the student cupboards, however I have a note from Professor Hudson allowing me to buy them and the invoice from the apothecary if you want to check that too. She actually allowed me to practice brewing this potion, even though she checked one of my batches and found nothing wrong with it. Sure, she didn’t allow me to brew it in unused classrooms, but they are currently holding a class in the Potions Classroom and it’s not going to be free until much later, and I have to plan a practice and make a three feet essay for Transfiguration on Animagi, and no matter how much Professor Hudson loves me she is going to give me detention if I don’t turn it over.”

 

Well, well, the Captain could bark back. Surely Gregory defending himself to him shouldn’t cause him to shiver, but damned his biology. It is the veela part, no doubt, the man was a menace. Better to get things done then.

 

“So let me start. I shouldn’t take long. It seems that you have prepared the ingredients quite correctly, so I will just mix this one for you and we will see how it goes.”

“I really appreciate it Mycroft, thanks.”

 

He set to the task at hand, Greg following his every move and making him really uncomfortable, but after all the man was trying to refine his own potion brewing technique so watching someone who knew what he was doing at this particular work was imperative. Step by step he added the ingredients, and they spent the time watching the cauldron self-stir in a comfortable silence. Mycroft leaned back and inhaled. _This was not possible._ There it was, again, the unfamiliar smell. Greg leaned to smell it too, and since it was a smallish cauldron his face was only inches away from him.

 

“It’s still wrong! I can’t believe it! If something the smell is even stronger!!!”

“There has to be something wrong with the ingredients! Do you have some more, unprepared, so I can brew a second batch?”

“Sure, I have some more here. You have the time?”

 

Greg waved his wand over the cauldron, making the useless potion disappear. Mycroft had totally forgotten about his brother and gang making polyjuice potion somewhere on the grounds. He whined before opening his notebook and looking at the pages.

 

**_Can’t find them anywhere._ **

**_Mycroft?_ **

**_Where are you?_ **

**_If you don’t answer soon I’m going back to the common room and I’m letting Sherlock waltz around polyjuiced as whoever he wants, which I suspect is you._ **

****

_I’m sorry Anthea, I got detained by another spot trouble. Can you please keep looking for them?_

**_Only because you said please. Need help with the other trouble?_ **

****

The question mark came again to blow a kiss and Mycroft blushed as Greg gasped loudly.

 

“Oh, you had to report to your girlfriend then? How does that even work? It seems like a really advanced piece of magic for wizard who’s still in school.”

“No, not my girlfriend, just a friend, a colleague of a sort. And the bit you saw was her magic, not mine.”

“Still, you were communicating with her, don’t lie, I’m not blind, you did it through the notebook and she was simply replying. Sure, her reply was impressive itself, but you both shouldn’t be able to do magic like that, at least not yet.”

“Well, we do what we must. She is helping me with a matter of discipline right now, and I got distracted by our potion conundrum.”

“Let me guess, it has to do with your brother and his friends. What are they doing now? They are my favorite group of little criminals, but they are really pig headed sometimes and don’t even realize something they are about to do is really dangerous. Just last time I caught them about to duel with Moriarty and Moran. I sent them all packing before things got nasty, little John looked ready to use his fists instead of his wand. Apparently they were picking on Molly because Irene was not around and John and Sherlock came to the rescue. Molly stepped on Moriarty’s toes as soon as I turned my back, though, so I guess she didn’t really need saving from them.”

“I was not informed of that particular incident.”

“I didn’t think it was necessary to involve the prefects. It was just a little misunderstanding.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I hope if something like that happens again you would inform me.”

“It’s not like you talk to me at all, Mycroft. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were avoiding me all this time.”

“Nonsense. We’ve never been friends Gregory, not even acquaintances. How did you crashing into me and almost killing me changes that?”

“Ah, so I’m back to Gregory now, good. I like it better when you use my name instead of my surname.”

“You are really infuriating.”

“I’ve been told that, yes, especially by some of my friends. You know, I wanted to get to know you and maybe be friends after I crashed on you. I was really impressed by how you managed to cast the spells to stop me from really hurting you or myself. And you seemed like a nice bloke.”

 

Mycroft snorted at this, again, what happened to him around Gregory Lestrade that he kept making all this undignified noises.

 

“No one has ever called me that, not ever. I’m not _nice_.”

“Well, maybe because you don’t let anyone get close to you at all.”

“That is a lie.”

“Only Anthea then. What is it with the rest of us? Not good enough for the mighty Mycroft Holmes?”

 

Greg was angry now, and Mycroft felt a little… a little heartbroken, if he must be honest. At least with himself he could be honest. He did not like his anger directed at him.

 

“No one cares enough to get close.”

 

He tried to give Greg his best icy glare but failed miserably and this made Greg’s expression change from angry to something that looked a lot like… but it can’t be. He couldn’t be interested in him. He kept repeating that to himself, as some kind of deluded mantra.

 

“Shit. I’m sorry Mycroft. We got on the wrong foot again. Let me start over. Hi, I’m Greg Lestrade, seventh year Hufflepuff. I play Quidditch and really want to get to know you a little more. I would like to be your friend, if you want.”

 

He extended his hand for Mycroft to shake.

 

“Gregory. This is infantile. I already know who you are.”

 

_I already know everything about you._ Anthea was nothing if not through when doing research for him.

 

“Humor me. It seems the last time I didn’t send the message through. Come on, shake my hand. I’m not a Venomous Tentacula, I won’t bite.”

 

_Unless you ask me to._ Where did that came from? Lestrade, get a grip. His own mind was playing tricks on him. He felt all his anger drain from him the moment he saw that look of hurt under Mycroft’s usual icy exterior. It made him want to jump and hug the boy, protect him from everything and everyone around him, stopping that look to ever creep over his face handsome face ever again. They had made the brew in the desk reserved for the teachers and Mycroft was now standing too far away from Greg. At least in Greg’s point of view. A look of resolve, of steel, morphed once again Mycroft’s features as he took one step further and took Greg’s hand with such force that made him stumble from the step the desk was up, right onto the floor. Mycroft’s grip on him almost pulled his arm out of its socket, but that grip also prevented him to fall face first, he barely had a chance to grab the other boy’s robes with his other hand. And it was that moment when he realized he was screwed. Screwed ten times to hell. Because being this close to Mycroft’s hand, he realized what the trouble with his potion was. That new smell, the one that was haunting him since he brewed Amortentia again, the one that joined the smell of the air on a rainy day over the Quidditch field, or that particular tinge of the broom polish he always used, was the smell of Mycroft Holmes’s _hands_. The daft git probably used handcream or something.

 

“Are you always this clumsy? I thought it was limited to the Quidditch field.”

“Very funny. You almost ripped my arm off. I will forgive you though. That’s what friends do.”

“Well, friends also help each other. I will help you brew this potion again until we get it right.”

“No need. I think I know what I got wrong in the first place. It’s something with the ingredients.”

“If you let me I will brew a new batch and you can see me prepare the ingredients properly.”

“I will let you, if you still want to, but I have a counteroffer. Why don’t we go look for your brother and company before they blow up the school?”

“That sounds tempting. We will separate, that way we can cover more ground. Here.”

 

He turned his notebook over, pointing his wand at it. _Proteo_ , he thought. Another notebook exactly like his appeared and he gave it to Greg.

 

“Use it if you want to communicate with me. If you find them, just write on it and I’ll come to you.”

“Wow. Can Anthea see what I write to you?”

“No, only me, why?”

“No reason, no reason at all. See you later, Mycroft.”

 

He folded the cauldron (Mycroft loved those folding cauldrons, he needed to get a new one) and picked his books and ingredients, saluting back at Mycroft as he left the classroom.

* * *

 

“Sherlock. This is not working. It says the thing in question has to start glowing. So far we’ve only made two holes in Greg’s Quidditch jumper.”

“This potion is perfectly brewed John, maybe Lestrade’s case is so appalling that it won’t matter what we do his confidence won’t come back.”

“And what, by Dumbledore, do you think you are doing?”

 

Mycroft entered the first floor bathroom, not surprised in the least to find them there. Apparently Myrtle had a crush on Greg (he could not blame the poor ghost, he really couldn’t) and when she found him looking for his brother in the prefect’s bathroom had alerted him of their presence in her own lavatory. Greg had written immediately in his new notebook, Mycroft now remembering fondly the messy scrawl that had appeared on the paper.

 

“Brother. Always sticking your overlarge nose in everything.”

“Ten points from Ravenclaw for that. Respect the badge, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock actually gasped at that. His brother had never, ever, deducted points from either of their houses. He must be really mad.

 

“Can you explain why are you brewing polyjuice potion in the girl’s bathroom?”

“You are wrong. Which is nice, for a change.”

“John, that is not an explanation. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“That’s not fair!!!!”

“Talk back again and I’ll make them fifteen.”

“Mycroft, please.”

 

This was Molly Hooper, the polite one of Sherlock’s little group of delinquents. She was also in Gregory’s team. _Where did that thought come from again?_ She looked back at him in horror, with a disbelieving look of having said something to Sherlock’s really scary older brother, who was also the school’s Head Boy. Usually the only words he ever heard from her were… actually none at all.

 

“Care to explain, Miss Hooper?”

 

Irene Adler nudged her friend, encouraging her to speak for a change. That one was not scared at all, Mycroft saw, or angry, like Sherlock and John. She was looking positively amused by everything.

 

“We are not brewing polyjuice potion. We are brewing a confidence increasing potion that Sherlock found in one book. We are doing this to help someone, not hurt anyone, and I checked over and over again and it doesn’t break any school rules. A friend of mine is having trouble with something and it has changed him, and I, well, _we_ don’t like it.”

 

That’s when Mycroft caught the sight of a Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper, with two holes in it. Checking the build of every male in the team on his mind the only possible owner of that jumper was Gregory Lestrade. Gregory, who had taken pains to help their little group, and who little Molly, and probably the rest of them, considered a friend.

 

“If you want to help Gregory, I’ll let you know that we are on our way to solving his particular trouble. You don’t need to brew any particular potion for that, at least not the kind you are brewing here. He was having a little trouble with one assignment for class and now I think we cleared the mistake. Give me the jumper, Miss Hooper, I’ll give it back to its rightful owner.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with Greg.”

“Mycroft doesn’t have friends. Even Anthea is his minion. Maybe Lestrade has succumbed under his iron fist and owes him a blood debt or something.”

 

Molly was giving him a look that clearly said that she didn’t really trust him, while Sherlock’s just was plain disbelieving. Mycroft sighed. He opened his notebook, showing the page to the kids before using his quill on it.

 

_Gregory?_

Yes, Mycroft?

Molly squealed when she recognized Greg’s handwriting. She had seen it multiple times on the board in their changing room, when they reviewed moves for Quidditch.

 

_We are friends, just for the record._

Yes, we are.

 

And then the “e” came out of the paper and winked at him, earning him laughter from the kids. Damn Gregory and his antics.

 

“Would you give me the jumper and trust me that I will return it to its owner now Miss Hooper? I’m actually off to meet Gregory to finish the assignment in question. He was actually helping me look for you all.”

 

Molly reluctantly gave Mycroft the jumper. The moment she placed it in his hands, Mycroft paled and left the bathroom without another word, not even bothering to take the ingredients and cauldron away from them.

 

“What got into him?”

 

John looked at Sherlock, who was now wearing a knowing smirk.

 

“No idea. But now I’m really curious to know what this assignment with Lestrade was. We might need to do some investigating instead of potion brewing.”

* * *

He was doomed, he was totally doomed. Of course the potion was right, they brewed it perfectly. Every ingredient was correctly prepared; he didn’t doubt Gregory now. Because the moment he touched that jumper he realized that the new smell, the odd one he could not recognize, was the combination of a woolen Quidditch jumper and Gregory Lestrade’s cologne.

 

 


End file.
